If Only It Were Rocket Science
by emif
Summary: One shot Sometimes a genius can't do anything without it coming back to bite him. A Specs and Trapper fic.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own Static. That belongs to Mr. McDuffie, Milestone, DC and WB. I just wish Shiv wasn't dressed like a Chinese acrobat.

**A/N: **Specs and Trapper get no love.

Trapper's name is taken from "Cat's Cradle". There is a witty reason for why I picked it, besides the fact that, it was outlandishly popular in the 60s and that I love myself some Vonnegut.Also Type one is known as juvenile diabetes and is not caused by obesity.

Also the feel of this one is more pompous than most of my fics. I thought it suited Mister Specs and Mister Trapper.

**If Only It Were Rocket Science**

Trapper slunk through the halls of his apartment complex. It was only lit in the halls this time of night. Not that it was particularly late mind you but more the fact that there were no windows in the halls and only the overhead lights were left to light the corridors. He rarely left the apartment if he didn't have to. That was one of the many benefits of the technological boom, tech support. He could basically tell a bunch of morons what to do from his home. It wasn't exactly easy to get a job with two felony charges now. However, Dakota Tech Support doesn't ask about that. They ask for an interview and you're hired. He had to admit it was convenient, if not moronic on the company's part.

The rare times he did leave were for one of two things. One was to talk with his parole officer who made him go to anger management. Matt went to that too. Matt was Mister Specs for anyone who was not informed. Matthew Robinson, to be exact. They were required to use their given names at the meetings. As for his given name, let's avoid that.

The second reason was for grocery, battery and clothes shopping. They rotated on that one. Trapper had volunteered despite it being Specs's turn to go. Mister Specs had been surprised. Trapper was not one to voluntarily go out in Dakota. They were recognized everywhere as criminals and it is awkward, if not a little dangerous, to just walk into a store. Not to mention that the felony makes getting a driver's license impossible, leaving only public transportation. However, Trapper had been on a mission today and was willing to risk a black eye for it, which he had gotten. He had only called the rather large man, a whale, that wasn't any reason to punch him in the face.

Trapper adjusted the grocery bags as he approached their apartment. He unlocked the door and pushed on the handle with one bag in one arm and the other maneuvered under his other arm. It was not an exaggeration saying that they avoided leaving. The door stopped. Specs had the chain done. Trapper groaned, "Paranoid." Trapper banged on the door. "Specs!"

Specs turned from one of the four or five computers in the small apartment. He got up, undid the chain and opened the door. Trapper stumbled in trying not to drop that was still awkwardly positioned under his right arm. He managed to avoid dropping either of the bags before reaching the counters separating the living area from the small kitchen. They were hardly done before Specs began putting things away and rummaging.

"Don't trust me?" Trapper said almost irritably.

Specs looked over at him in a half glare which quickly turned into a full glare. "What's this?"

Trapper looked over. It was a carton of soda. He winced slightly. He was hoping Mister Specs wouldn't find that. "I wasn't going to have it." Trapper said a little shaky. It was worth a shot. "It's hard staying up all night without caffeine."

"You bought coffee."

Trapper groaned. "You drink it then." He then began putting things away from the other bag. Specs leaned over and looked in the bag. "I didn't get anything else."

Specs snorted. "I thought you'd be easier to take care of after Vanmoor. You had the excuse that you were a teenager, then."

Trapper turned to Specs and glared.

Specs didn't look up from putting away his bag. "You always said it was school food too. Vanmoor had nutrition charts but apparently reading is asking too much."

"A candy bar isn't going to kill me, Specs." Trapper snapped.

That did it all right. Mister Specs was not a calm and rational person to begin with. He was more calm and rational with Mister Trapper and less with Static. The rest of humanity, animal, vegetable and mineral were in between somewhere. Computers on a higher middle. They were somewhere less than Trapper but more than Alva is about right. Yet with all of that leeway, Mister Trapper had managed to snap something in Mister Specs's brain by only saying three things to him. It had to be a record. "Oh really . . . " That was actually much worse than it seems. Mister Specs was not one to yell. "You know maybe you're right. Maybe a candy bar won't kill you." It is never good when Mister Specs agrees with you and isn't flirting and that was not flirting. "But we aren't talking about a candy bar, Mister Trapper, are we?"

"And what you think, I'm just going to drink a gallon of soda without . . . "

"Without what, Mister Trapper?" Specs didn't give him any time to answer at all. He never did. "And this magical substance, which you'll be taking, will that be before or after the anaphylactic shock kicks in?"

Trapper groaned and sighed. "Get rid of it, then."

"Fine but how long are you going to be sneaking in junk, anyway?" Specs asked irritably.

"You know, I might have been getting it for you."

"I don't eat junk; besides, its too tempting for you." You may be wondering what Mister Specs and Mister Trapper are babbling about. Well you see Mister Trapper has a problem and that problem is most commonly known as diabetes. Type one to be exact and they enjoy being exact.

Before either could say anything more in regards to degrading one another, the phone rang. It was a customer. Trapper slunk out from behind the counter, put on a headset from the end table and pushed the blinking button on the phone. "Dakota Tech Support, Stephen speaking." Stephen is not Mister Trapper's real name but it was useful in this circumstance. "Uh, huh... ma'am, is the computer on?...I'll wait well you check . . . it wasn't . . . oh, that's not it . . . ma'am, you . . . yes, the light means its on . . . yeah, its on the monitor . . . the part that looks like a television . . . push it . . . it won't break it . . . I swear, it won't break it . . . yeah . . . its fine now . . . "

Specs sent him a sympathetic look. That truly was painful for him to watch."What was that?"

"The contrast was off on her monitor."

"The contrast?"

"The contrast." Trapper said taking off the headset. Stupid calls like that really did irritate both of them. They used to be fun, of course, and gave them a good laugh but they were so prevalent now. He stalked back over and rested his elbows on the opposite side of the counter as Specs.

"You actually didn't get anything else."

Trapper groaned. He was still on about that. Specs was worse than his mother and he wasn't even going to get into how she was with his eating habits. "No, I didn't get anything else. Just the soda **_and _**I will get rid of it."

Specs snorted. "I'll get rid of it."

"Either way, I'm not getting any of it." Trapper said resting his chin on his knuckles as he slouched over the counter top.

"At least, I don't have that to worry about." Specs said as he threw away the bags.

Trapper perked up. "Why? What are you up to?"

Specs smirked from behind his glasses. "So glad you asked Mister Trapper." He straightened and walked out from the kitchen side of the counter toward one of the computers. Trapper stood up and turned toward the direction of the computer. "After the brilliant failure that was the 'Disaster Matrix'," Specs stood, clicking the keys of the computer.

Trapper reared defensively. "You better not be suggesting that . . . "

"I'm not." Specs looked over his shoulder with aggravation. "It was miscalculations and a giant

Neanderthal that ruined that plan. But that's not the point." He continued then stepped back from

the computer. "This will . . . "

Specs was too caught up in his presentation to notice that his audience had actually come up and

turned off the monitor. "Specs."

Specs frowned and pushed the small button turning it back on. "As I was saying . . . "

Trapper pushed the button again and the screen blacked. This back and forth went on for around five or six rotations before Specs grew too aggravated to continue. "Mister Trapper,"

Trapper stood slouched slightly with one hand resting on the computer table. "Look, Specs . . . I have to talk to you first. Something about today."

Specs looked at him confused for a moment then to Trapper's black eye. "You don't need to explain the eye. I'm guessing some grunt decided to prove he had some motor control in your general direction."

Trapper straightened in surprise. He had forgotten about the eye but it did hurt now that Mister Specs mentioned it. "It's not about the eye. It's . . . I got you something. It's . . . in the bag on the counter." Trapper said anxiously fiddling with his ponytail.

Specs looked surprised. So surprised, in fact, his glasses drooped slightly. Trapper was not one to get him gifts. He hardly bought him a coffee without thorough begging and a very good explanation. "Oh..." Specs began to walk over to the counter then stopped short. "Is the composite part for the...? Did you know about the...?"

Trapper was still fiddling with his ponytail. Specs groaned to himself out of discomfort. He just hoped it wasn't something important today. He thought it over. It wasn't that he knew of.

"Its not...?" Specs picked up the small bag. It was light. He looked over his shoulder at Trapper again. He was hoping he wouldn't still be standing nervously. He was. He opened the bag, looked inside and turned quickly shutting the bag. Specs looked as if he were going to say something but hurried into the other room and slammed the door.

Trapper's heart dropped. He wasn't expecting that. He wasn't expecting that at all. He walked over to the door and knocked. "Specs? Specs, what's wrong?" He didn't answer.

Trapper knew at that point how angry he was. Specs didn't usually give him the silent treatment. He was one for seething loathing, of course, but that was entirely different. The only time he was silent was when he seriously hurt by something. An employer had gotten to him once. It had been just after working for Alva.

"Matthew Robinson." The computer said as Specs scanned his ID card. "duprass Monte Thompson." Followed by Trapper. Specs snickered to himself as the computer read 'his name.'

"Mister Specs..." Trapper moaned.

"Isn't it lower cased, too?" He could hardly hold back a grin.

"...yes." Trapper rolled his eyes. "My mother was a 'botanically based non-conformist'. They have ways of embarrassing their children."

"Its great that you refuse to admit your mother is a hippie."

"'Botanically based non-conformist.'"

Specs grinned and turned back around. They had gotten a job working on the circuitry for a lab in Dakota. Both of them had quite a few strings to pull after the incident with Alva Junior. The only way they were able to properly cover that up was to firstly use their "given names" and to attach as little attention as possible. Both were not an easy task for either of them. However, it was a necessary evil.

The work was easy enough, boring but easy. All that was required was for them to mend a few circuit boards. They wouldn't have even have been there if they weren't as hard up for money. It seemed that the price of high tech circuitry, motors and even sheet metal was going up by the day. It wasn't half bad though. Trapper had to admit he preferred it to the "grunt work" of Alva Industries. They were primarily unsupervised and could work unlike at Alva's with the bosses breathing down their necks.

Trapper had just finished up on a motor that had burned out on level four and was heading out into the halls for some lunch from the vending machine. He was surprised that Mister Specs hadn't popped in by now. He had this uncanny ability of finding him no matter where he was on the planet. He had to admit it was a perfect opportunity to cheat a little on that ridiculous diet he had him on.

"Aren't you supposed to still be on Level seven?"

Trapper looked up from his pocket change. A young rather female asian scientist was hurrying down the hall. She had been addressed by a glasses wearing attendant who was standing next to Trapper at the vending machine. Mister Specs and Trapper didn't particularly like either of the

people. They were, in their opinion and words, brain dead on their best days. "Yeah..." The female scientist laughed. "I am but you would have left too if you knew what was going on."

The attendant's eyes widened. "What's going on up there?"

"Its one of those new technicians. He was mouthing off to the superintendent."

Trapper leaned in a little. Specs had been working on level seven earlier. "A technician? Mister Riley doesn't usually put up with that kind of thing." The attendant said with almost a devious grin. Trapper at that point serious considered the idea of tripping him.

"That's why I left. I didn't want to be in the middle of that firefight."

Trapper put the change in his pocket and sprinted toward the elevator. He wasn't exactly sure what was going on but he knew it was Specs. The other technicians weren't exactly boisterous after all. He arrived only to see Specs come out of the elevator at the end of the hall. Trapper hurried over to him. "What'd you say?" Trapper snapped at him, irritably. "You know, we're supposed to be laying low."

Specs didn't say anything. His shoulders were hunched and he was looking at the floor. He turned after hearing Trapper and straightened. "Change of plans, Mister Trapper. We're leaving."

Trapper wasn't exactly sure what the superior had told him but they both quit that day. It wasn't a big loss. It was easy but it was grunt work. Nonetheless, that was the only time Specs had shown the same silence. Trapper knocked again. Still, Specs didn't answer. Trapper sighed and walked over to the couch. Obviously he was camping out tonight. By then, he was sure Specs had either barricaded the door or had his laser goggles at the ready by now. Either way, he wasn't getting into the bedroom.

He opened a cabinet that was in the far corner and pulled out two blankets and made himself a bed. He wasn't exactly happy to be camping out but breaking out the testicle gloves was too dramatic and he didn't want to be kicked out of the apartments for fighting. Landlords weren't as understanding of that as they should. He learned that in the last complex. Besides, he knew he'd be cooled down in the morning.

"Trapper..." Specs said standing at the half open bedroom door. He looked around drowsily. He had not yet put his glasses on and apparently Mister Trapper had turned the computer monitors off to sleep. He slid his glasses out of his pocket and put them on. He noticed Trapper crawled up on the couch. He swallowed hard to himself. It had bothered him that Trapper hadn't come in after him. It bothered him deeply. He twiddled the object that had been in the bag. He was still conflicted. He looked down at the ring. He didn't think a piece of metal could cause so much trouble. It was malicious really. There was no point to it. They lived in Michigan for crying out loud. There was no place for it here. Logic and legislator were against it. It wasn't the whimsy that upset him though. It was something else entirely. "Trapper!" Specs snarled. "duprass!"

Trapper rolled over to his side and looked over at Specs. He rubbed his eyes as he began to sit up. "What time is it?"

Specs looked over in annoyance. "Four thirty AM."

Trapper groaned. He was hoping he'd wait for morning to yell at him. He looked up at Specs and saw something he didn't expect. "Why are you wearing it?"

Specs snarled defensively and covered the ring with his other hand. "Where do you get off DOING THIS TO ME!?!"

Trapper glared irritably. "Don't even start, Specs!" Trapper rose off the couch and to his feet. "You're the one who stormed out the moment you got it. Not many people can be insulted by a ring." Trapper barked as he turned two of the monitors on for light.

Specs was almost shaking at this point. "Do you... have... any idea how sick it is to pull a prank like that?"

Trapper groaned and looked over at one of the computers for a moment. "It wasn't a joke. It was a gift."

Specs was still shaking slightly. Trapper couldn't see if he was seething from the distance or in that light. He could only assume.

"Don't get so mad. It was a stupid idea. I'm sorry."

Specs had removed his glasses and was rubbing his eyes at that point. He sighed to himself. "What was it for Trapper? Not exactly logical to buy me an engagement ring."

Trapper almost choked on his tongue at that. "You make it sound so romantic." Trapper sighed.

Specs continued to rub the corners of his eyes closest to his nose. "Are you angry at me?"

Trapper was taken back by the question. Mister Specs was not prone to emotional questions but then he was doing a lot of things that Mister Specs didn't do today. "No. Not really. A little irritated because I was throw out on the couch for trying to be a hopeless romantic."

Specs cleared his throat and spun his glasses between his fingers. "It doesn't make sense. Romantics and symbolism, its just not... not..."

Trapper cocked his head a bit. He didn't know where he was going. It was a gift. He was trying to be a little romantic. Everything was so horrifyingly mundane around there. "I was just trying to put some excitement into things. You don't need to take it so personally."

Mister Trapper had no way of knowing anything about what he was saying. Neither of the genius were that capable with the mysterious concept of "feelings". They both spent a great deal of time harassing others and even each other without a second thought. However, their own personal lives were never the topic; excluding, Mister Trapper's diabetes, that was up for constant criticism.

Specs made a sound much like a stifled cough. "You don't get it. You apathetic little dolt, you don't get it!" Specs snapped, stomped off into the other room and slammed the door.

Trapper wasn't having it this time and grabbed the door knob. He pulled hard but Specs had it on the other side holding it tight. "Open the door, Specs!" Trapper snarled and grabbed one of his gloves from the computer table. He slipped it on and backed up. "Open the door!" He outstretched the gloved hand and activated it, ripped the door right off of its own hedges. He held it up in the air, Specs still clinging to the handle and not entirely sure what had happened yet. He lowered the door slowly. "What is wrong with you today?"

"Do you have any idea what any of this means?"

"Not really because you aren't making any sense! You just keep getting angry, storming out and calling me an idiot! We're not at Vanmoor anymore, you can't just run off to the labs every time we don't agree on something!" Trapper said sliding off the glove. "We're not kids anymore. Shouldn't you be over tantrums?"

"I am not throwing a tantrum and if you paid any attention you'd know that, duprass." Specs snapped.

"Yeah, drag my 'name' into this." Trapper sighed and looked over at Specs. "What is this about anyway? You've been acting crazy even since I gave you that."

"You still don't get it." Specs muttered irritably. "There is no logic to being in love, to romance, to investing so much into something." Specs snarled. "Besides we both know that I'm not exactly the caring type."

Trapper snorted. "What to grunts? Who cares how you teach them anyway. Somebody has to get them off of that perches."

"I'm not talking about them. I mean other people."

"So you yelled at our boss a few times. He didn't show us the proper respect anyway."

"I'm talking about to you."

"Are you kidding me?" Trapper actually stood up straight at the statement, not a common site at all. "You practically seize every time I buy groceries. If you didn't care, you'd actually let me drink that soda I bought."

Specs looked at him surprised and slid his glasses on. "You think..." Specs regained some composure. "You know, you can't have that."

"There he goes again..." Trapper muttered to himself. "Besides who told you you were emotionally reptilian anyway."

Specs looked at one of the computers for a moment. "I've lost count." He turned back solemnly. "I suppose my almost omniscient 'emotional reptilianism' is only matched by your incredibly annoying apathy."

Trapper was at that point blandly staring at something else. He didn't being insulted.

"I rest my case." Specs sighed. "Put the door back up and come to bed."

"That's more like it."

* * *

Reviews are met with love and more love. 


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